


Two Sparrows in a Hurricane

by grumkin_snark



Series: Maekar x Dyanna [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 09:02:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16405361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumkin_snark/pseuds/grumkin_snark
Summary: Mariah and Daeron have long known that their youngest son had struck up a romance, but when he and Dyanna come to them requesting to be wed, they are faced with weighing the personal against the political.





	Two Sparrows in a Hurricane

**Author's Note:**

> Anon asked: Could you do a fic where Mariah either gives her blessings or warns Dyanna about being Dornish in a dragon court?

It had not been a surprise, when her youngest and Lady Dyanna had sought out her and Daeron both, had asked to speak with them privately and looked exhilarated and positively terrified all at once.

No, it had been quite expected, for the two had not been so very subtle over the past few months. It wasn’t simply the sneaking around, but the fact that any time Baelor would mention or address Dyanna, with a rather spectacular smirk on his face, Maekar would either swat his brother, objecting vehemently no matter the comment, or else say nothing but blush furiously. Dyanna was better on the whole, but there was no hiding the way her eyes would keep flicking to Maekar, even if she were in the middle of a conversation with someone else.

“How long do you suppose this will go on?” Daeron had wondered aloud one evening as they lay in bed, after a supper in which Maekar had nearly knocked over his wine goblet.

“Surely not much longer,” she’d said. “If they don’t confess to it soon, then Baelor will. He’s fit to burst.”

Daeron had given an exasperated chuckle. “Aye, that’s true enough.”

She’d been right—it had taken just four more days for the pair to approach them. They had clearly hoped for an answer at that very moment, but this was not something that could be easily decided.

After all, it was one thing to know Maekar and Dyanna had struck up a romance, and quite another to learn that they wished to  _wed_. Her boy had only barely turned six-and-ten, and Dyanna was not quite a year older. It would not be logical for them to marry so early.

More pressing than the impatience of youth, however, was whether the match would be  _politically_  well-advised. The two had clearly either not considered it, or thought it irrelevant, but Mariah and Daeron had not taken it so lightly. They had matched their eldest three strategically: a Dondarrion to ease the relations between the Marchers and Dorne, to show that even the most historic of enemies could be united under Daeron’s rule; a Penrose to further ensure the stormlands, and to draw on the connection to Princess Elaena; and an Arryn, daughter of the powerful Warden of the East.

While House Dayne is ancient and one of the principal houses in Dorne, the realm is at perhaps its most antagonistic towards her homeland since the first Aegon. Maekar is their fourth son, but he is still a prince—his hand could be used to secure the westerlands or riverlands or Reach.

Wedding him to a Dornishwoman, and for no other reason than desire, could easily present a wealth of problems from those undecided or against Daeron’s reign.

Yet, for all that…the thought of having to look her youngest in the eye, her youngest who has never expected or asked for anything, and tell him he is forbidden from marrying the woman he loves makes her heart ache. Daeron had had the same misgivings, and the same sadness; she’d seen it in his solar as Maekar made his plea, and she’s seen it in the days hence when they discussed the matter into the wee hours of the morning.

“The Tyrells have a daughter around Maekar’s age, and the Tullys as well,” Mariah says on the third day, weary and worried. “He could find companionship in an arranged marriage as we did, as Baelor and Jena have.”

“Do you truly believe that, love?” Daeron asks. “I do not.”

“No,” she sighs. “But the Targaryens have married into Dorne twice in the last generation, my brother and your sister less than two years past. This would raise eyebrows even amongst our allies.”

“She is a Dayne,” Daeron contemplates. “Boys the realm wide dream of becoming the Sword of the Morning and bearing Dawn. She has spent more time in King’s Landing than Starfall by now, I’d wager, and her eyes may as well be Valyrian. Mayhaps…mayhaps we could emphasize all that.”

“Mayhaps,” Mariah hedges. She places her hand on his arm and adds, “And he is our son. The realm is not the only thing we are responsible for.”

And so it is that, after another night of compiling ways they can present the union in a positive light, they call Maekar and Dyanna to them. The pair looks profoundly more nervous than before.

“We will grant your request,” says Daeron without preamble. “On a few conditions.”

He begins to list said provisions, but Mariah has a feeling they mostly fall on deaf ears. She could count on one hand the times in her life she could describe Maekar as  _radiant_ , but the sight of him now eclipses all others.

 _He did not think we would agree_ , she realizes.  _Yet he tried anyway._

Dyanna had not thought so either, she notices. At their prior meeting, she had kept a respectable distance from Maekar; here, she leans against his side and entwines her hand with his.

Her glee is such that when Daeron is done and sees Maekar out, Mariah asks the girl to stay behind. Once the menfolk have left, she pours a cup of tea for them both.

“I will get right to it,” says Mariah. “I must impress upon you the implications of this decision. It gladdens me that you and my son have found love. But you will encounter many of the same obstacles that I did. We are Dornish in a land that hates us, and you will marry a prince of the blood in a few moons’ time. You will be a princess, no longer merely a lady. You must be prepared.”

“I am.” Dyanna’s words are solemn, but the bliss still shining bright in her eyes takes away much of the gravitas.

 _Could I have ever been that young?_  Mariah wonders. She must have been, for she had married Daeron not long after she became a woman, but she has always felt older than her years. She has  _had_  to be older. First as her father’s heiress, then as the crown princess, and now as queen.

“ _Dyanna_ ,” she snaps. “You must  _hear_  me.”

“I do,” Dyanna says, chastened. “I have witnessed your many struggles.”

“And you are prepared to face them?” Mariah asks. “You are prepared to hear that you will never be good enough, that you have seduced and bewitched him, that you seek to use his title to gain one for yourself, that you ought to breed with your own kind instead of tainting the Targaryen line? Because you  _will_  hear such things, and worse, and if you react in the slightest, you will be maligned all over again. People will not ignore this marriage.”

“Those…those are  _vile_  things to say, Your Grace.”

“Yet they will be said. From the moment this betrothal is announced, you may never again be heedless,” Mariah replies. She sees angry tears prick in Dyanna’s eyes, and lets out a breath. “King Daeron and I consented because we have seen the happiness between the two of you and because Maekar is not like to ever sit the throne. More than anything, I wish for that happiness to continue, and I  _will_  help you. But you must be forewarned. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” says Dyanna resolutely, “I understand.”

“Good.” Mariah reaches over and clasps Dyanna’s hand in hers. “Now, then. We have work to do. This wedding will not plan itself, will it?”


End file.
